


Love At First Kiss

by murdergatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: DATING SHOW AU, Exaggerated Character Traits, Fluff and Crack, Love At First Kiss AU, M/M, Mostly Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/pseuds/murdergatsby
Summary: Will and Hannibal meet each other on the show "Love At First Kiss."





	1. Who is Will Graham?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainyday321](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainyday321/gifts).



> This has been in the works for a while, and remained unposted because I was saving it for Valentine's Day. However, the world kind of needs this sort of fluff right now. Why wait 14 more days?
> 
> This is inspired by the show Love At First Kiss, and was written with the intention of fitting the format they edit in (with exception of chapter 7, which takes place after the show ends). It's a little experimental on my part, and I hope it reads smoothly!
> 
> Enjoy ❤︎

“Uh, my name is Will. I’m 34, I’m a teacher, and I’m about to kiss a total stranger.”

Will Graham leaned back against the edge of the speckled counter. It was warm to the touch and a had a chalky feeling to its surface. He could imagine other contestants throwing powder-based make-ups against their cheeks in a last-ditch effort to appear their most perfect for another person, who was going to be just as nervous as they were.

_Is contestant the right word? We’re not here to win anything._

Regardless of his want to be disconnected from the rest of them, he looked over his shoulder and checked the lines of his stubble. The curls of his hair were messy, but held just enough bounce to make it look intentional. His eyes dropped to his wardrobe and he figured, he could have dressed _nicer._ The cadet grey button-up he wore looked dirty in this light, and was crinkled from the dryer. The color did make his eyes pop from behind his glasses, though. That’s what he chose to focus on.

“What kind of teacher are you?” The producer asked; her voice coming from behind the camera startling him.

Except for where he stood, the room was dark. He knew _where_ she was, but not much else about her. Her faint silhouette showed that her hair was volumized with tight and perfect ringlets. She wore clothes that seemed to accentuate the size of her hair; A top, or jacket, that was tight at the throat, large at the shoulder, and tight again at the waist. She looked doll-like; possibly similar to a Disney super villain.

She had introduced herself as Freddie Lounds when they first spoke- inclusion of her first name suggesting that it was acceptable to call her that. She corrected him with “Ms. Lounds.” the moment Will acted upon that invitation.

She liked control and, as much as Will felt an immediate distaste for her, he admired that she searched for work in a field where she had plenty.

“The kind you find in places of education.” He answered. His tone was dry and unwilling. For a moment, his eyes fluttered to the camera lens. He let himself remember why he was here but made no move towards rescinding his attitude just yet.

“What do you teach?” Ms. Lounds said, with the same even and unaffected voice as before. There was no hesitation, no withdrawal from the way Will spoke to her. She was used to this kind of defiance and knew to simply rephrase her question until her target broke down. And, he would break down.

Will paused for a deep and centering breath. “Psychoanalysis.” He said. He told himself that he had done so willingly, but it still left him feeling defeated.

“Where?” She asked.

“The FBI Academy.”

Will could feel her smirking. It made the defeat feel heavier.

Ms. Lounds shifted, her head lowering to look at a clipboard Will felt she _suddenly_ had. He wondered if it was a list of questions, or a frighteningly personal file on him and his habits.

 “Can you state that again as a self-contained sentence?” She requested. It was the same question she had asked before, but there was something snide about the way she was presenting it now.

“Yeah.” Will sighed. He wrung his face with his hand before turning his eyes back down the soul-less, black center of the camera lens. “My name is Will. I’m 34. I teach psychoanalysis at the FBI Academy.” He paused, swallowed. “And I’m about to kiss a total stranger.”

Will tuned back to the humanoid shape that was giving him instruction. “How was that?” He asked, with just a teaspoon of his own spite.

“Thank you, that was great.” She said, still looking down at her clipboard. There wasn’t any real approval in her voice.

“You know,” She started again, “Throwing the title ‘FBI agent’ around is sure to help in the dating department.”

 _Throwing the title around._ Will had to pull the admission from his gut and _she has the nerve…_  His eyes moved to the door he walked through to get here, desperately. He just wanted this to be over with.

“Not an agent. Just a teacher.” He corrected.

The producer thought for a moment, no doubt reading him the same way Will trained others to. Only, he taught people how to save lives; this woman was trying to read him for sensationalism. She was a predator looking for his weakness.

“You don’t like to talk about yourself much.” She said, stating what was obvious.

Will snorted. He reached to his face and adjusted his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Ms. Lounds graced the space with a polite chuckle; the kind that people do before being cutting. “Then, you probably don’t date often either. Is that fair to say?”

“It’s more than fair.” Will agreed, narrowing his eyes. “I haven’t been on a proper date in…” He attempted to create a number, but failed. “A long time.”

The woman paused as if she wanted more, and Will crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s hard for me to ‘open up.’” He explained. “I’m not all that fond of the process of getting to know new people.”

_They’re going to make me sound like an ass._

“Is there any reason for that?” The producer asked. Will could see her leaning even farther forward, but he still couldn’t make out her appearance- she never caught the light. It made him want to strain towards her, but he denied his impulses.

“I have this…” Will began. His condition was difficult to explain to the faces of people he already knew; he wasn’t sure how to approach it when it was going to be viewed by possible millions.

 _Thousands._ He corrected, internally. _No way a million people are going to be interested in watching this crap._

“I’m sensitive.” He attempted, grimacing around his words as they left his mouth. They weren’t right, and there was no way to explain his collection of hindrances in the short soundbite they wanted. Not _really_ anyway, and now he just sounded soft.

“It’s just hard for me to get close to people.” He continued, clearing his throat afterwards to prevent himself from further stumbling through his words. “Is that enough for your viewers to get the gist? I don’t like to be social. It’s hard.” He added after a moment, nodding along with each syllable.

Again, Ms. Lounds chuckled. “That’s fine. Perfect, actually. Meme worthy.”

She paused to pen something on her clipboard, then moved on.

“Do you believe you’ll find true love today?”

“No.” Will replied, quickly.

Ms. Lounds looked up from her board with the same speed. “That was fast.”

Will nodded. “Love at first sight doesn’t exist.” He explained. “There isn’t any scientific basis to back it, and people who claim to have experienced are referring to lust.” Will paused suddenly, wondering if he was allowed to say _lust_ on TV. Ms. Lounds remained silent, so he continued.

“And,” He began, with a calmer demeanor. “The first kiss is usually the worst. It’s messy and uncertain. Too much guessing and self-correction, instead of just relaxing into what you know already works.”

“Hmm.” The producer hummed. “Then, why are you here?”

Will let himself settle back against the counter- something he had been inching away from with rigidity since his interrogation had began. He checked himself in the mirror from over his shoulder, one final time, then turned to look back into the camera.

“My friends thought it would be good for me.” He explained. “’Had to at least try and prove them wrong.”


	2. The Kiss

When Ms. Lounds escorted him to the next stage of his day, she asked Will if he would rather wait to be kissed, or come in for the kiss. He had chosen to wait, but now he nerves were punishing him for not picking otherwise.

He wrung his hands together and obsessed over how dry they were. He wished he had moisturized more, and then he wished his lips weren’t so chapped. He decided that he wouldn’t watch the episode when it aired, no matter how Beverly and Jack begged for him to. He’d leave them to their premier party and he’d commemorate his failures on a fishing boat, somewhere _far, far_ away.

_This was all such a bad idea._

The room they stuck him in next was stark and white. It probably did wonders for his skin and eyes on film, but it left little for him to find distraction in. _It left little for the other person to be distracted by, but him._ Will wondered if there was still time to leave.

Before he could ask, another man peeked his head around the corner. He checked to where the cameras were situated, and to where Ms. Lounds was waiting They didn’t look up or seem to notice his presence, so he turned his attention back to where Will was standing. Will couldn’t see anything past his face and the tops of his shoulders, a bit of an arm, but it was enough to make him look right back.

Upon meeting with Will’s eyes, the man smiled. Stray strands of hair from his bangs fell into his face, the honey-brass color bringing an overwhelming warmth to his expression. His cheekbones were high, his eyes were dark, and he was alluring- even as only a head, shoulders, and a bit of arm.

The man gave himself time to observe Will’s appearance, eyes dropping and raising as necessary. Will expected to feel scrutinized by whoever it was that joined him, prepared to be checked out and sized up; however, the way this man looked at him didn’t bring around any obsessive worry about his appearance. He didn’t feel a need to hide himself or shrink away. He _actually_ felt himself _inviting_ the man’s gaze.

_Oh no._

The man drew back, disappearing behind the wall before knocking his knuckles against the door-frame.

“Come in when you’re ready!” Ms. Lounds called, seeming to be shocked by the sound. Will smirked.

After a short pause, the man reappeared in full. He wore a beige jacket, over a sage colored sweater-vest and crisp white dress shirt. His pants were nearly identical to Will’s, in a slate color that was only slightly lighter than his own, but were tailored in a way that made it impossible not to take notice of his legs. Will’s were store bought, this man appeared to have a specialist on the job. He had obviously put more thought into his outfit than Will had.

The man strut on to the room floor with an incredible confidence, considering the situation. Will felt rooted to his spot, and was glad that it didn’t matter he wasn’t rushing to meet with him. He did manage a quiet “Hi.” before the man’s hand found a firm resting place against the small of his back, pulling him in.

Will wasn’t sure if was kiss that made him feel lifted, or if it was that the man was physically lifting him- but Will felt like he was floating beneath the man’s touch. The kiss was slow and deep, despite only being crafted from a soft parting of the man’s lips.

When the man moved as if he may pull away, Will chased him. Will felt as if he had been transformed into ribbon, slowly unwinding and fraying against the tiles. The man reasserted his grip, and Will was ready to melt into him. He didn’t think he could take much more of it, but more was what he wanted. A cautious introduction of tongue, and Will much more aroused than he would ever imagine wanting to be on television.

The man must have felt similarly in the same moment because, as Will gasped and found himself wrapped in fear of how hard he might be breathing down on his mic, the man let him go. He pulled away, and the quiet smack their mouths made caused Will to realize how badly he wished this wasn’t over.

As Will’s feet (physical or metaphorical- he still wasn’t sure) came back to settle on the floor, the man lingered and kept his hand to Will’s back. He was waiting for him to be stable, and had the cocky smirk to prove that he _knew_ Will needed time to be stable.

“Hello.” He said, with a soothing voice. It took Will a moment to realize he was responding to his earlier vocalization, and was thankful before his blushing cheeks could will him to repeat himself. He felt out of breath. He felt like he had just been interrupted during a run.

Turning first to Ms. Lounds for approval, the man pivoted and walked back out of the room. Will watched him leave with a bellowing sigh.

“How did it feel?”

The question took Will off guard, causing his eyes to grow wide and search for where Ms. Lounds was seated, despite knowing exactly where she was.

“Hmm?” was all he could manage.

The producer sat in the light now, but felt no-less mysterious or intimidating. Her clipboard balanced on top of crossed legs, knee-high boots and all.

“The kiss.” She reiterated. “How did it feel?”

“Oh.” Will mumbled. He looked back to the door, childishly hopeful that the man would come back. “Good.” He said. He considered lying, but the words didn’t come to him in time.

“How did you feel about him?” She followed up, hardly taking time to assess his answer.

“…Good.” Will confirmed after a long pause. He looked to his feet, then back to the door.

Ms. Lounds laughed to herself as she started collecting her immediate things. Will reminded her of a dog. “If you want to see him again, you get to go on a two-minute speed date.” She explained.

Will perked up in his place, and turned his attention back to her.

She smiled. “Do you want to see him again?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Will stammered. “Sure.” He added, in attempt to not sound too eager. “Why not?”


End file.
